


Words Left Unsaid

by TriffidsandCuckoos



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Arthur Finds Out, Gen, M/M, Pre-Slash, Season/Series 01, The Merlin torture never really stops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-07
Updated: 2012-05-07
Packaged: 2017-11-05 00:32:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/399918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TriffidsandCuckoos/pseuds/TriffidsandCuckoos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin's secret is out in the worst way possible. Arthur has no idea what's right anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Words Left Unsaid

It starts off as such a normal day it’s almost painful. 

Even the morning banter (Merlin’s not sure which of them started calling it that) with Arthur is about as normal as a servant teasing the prince can be: Merlin’s only a few minutes late, Arthur stares at him in shock (mocking or not, Merlin’s never really sure), and then, being a prince with an image to keep up, he comments that “miracles can happen after all”. 

Merlin grins at his back. Normal doesn’t mean he’ll ever get tired of this. (Whatever it is.)

Standing in the stables later, watching the knights practising instead of the far less exciting task he’s been assigned (possibly cleaning out the horses?), as usual, he reflects on how, back in Ealdor, he’d never imagined a day in Camelot could be this _average_. The idea that even life in Albion’s capital could settle into routine had seemed impossible, yet here he is, bored again but unsurprisingly reluctant to carry on with his job.

In less than twenty-four hours – less than twelve – he will look back on this point and want to hit himself.

He shivers at a cold brush of wind, and then freezes in a more metaphorical sense as a trace of… _something_ crosses his mind. Foreboding? Briefly he wonders if maybe it’s one of those thoughts that Gaius insists he doesn’t seem to have, which are apparently different to the thoughts he does actually have, but the small mental joke fades away again when the feeling comes again. And it’s a definite _feeling_ , not anything as conscious as a thought. And not a pleasant feeling at that. 

Another movement of air, but this time he frowns as his mind slowly returns from its contemplative moment. The morning hadn’t been anywhere near this windy, and while it’s true that the weather likes to change when nobody’s looking…

At first it’s just the noise: an overwhelming and oppressive steady beat. The wind picks up suddenly, scattering hay in the stables and buffeting the knights. One turns to look up, then lets out a yell that draws the others’ attention. Merlin can’t see what they’re all looking at – roofs can be surprisingly inconvenient at times – but he doesn’t have to try, since they swoop down so close he can almost see individual…feathers?

They circle, dive again, and the sun highlights them in horrible detail: the bodies of birds, but the faces of women, screaming in insane fury as they claw at any skin not protected by armour, and some that is. As talons screech across steel, the sound makes those who aren’t trying to free themselves fall back.

For a moment Merlin just stands there in sheer shock, before he runs to the door of the stables. Briefly he loses sight of the battle, having to rely only on what he can hear to tell him who’s winning. At the sound of a horribly familiar ancient language and more understandable cries of pain, he practically throws himself outside. Finally, after falling over the gear left in the way and forcing his way through the servants trying to flee (taking too long, _why_ is it taking so long?), he makes it around to the practice grounds again.

Where he stops in horror.

This shouldn’t be possible, he tells himself. There are only two of the creatures, yet most of Camelot’s finest are already scattered across the ground. More than one lies in a worryingly dark patch of earth.

He can’t worry about them now though, because his vision has narrowed to a single point: Arthur standing alone, facing both of…whatever those creatures are. A few remaining knights are closing in behind them, inviting Merlin to hope…

And then, almost too fast to follow, that hope’s gone. One of the creatures hears them and launches herself up, spinning in the air and then plummeting towards them, lips shaping words that bring fire to her talons and her wings as she flares them for impact. The light and the heat threaten to obscure anything else, but they don’t stop Merlin seeing past to the prince.

That’s how he sees the moment the second being lunges forwards, spells knocking Arthur back onto the ground, head exposed (because this was just a drill, he didn’t have a chance to get to his helmet and Merlin wasn’t there) and his sword spinning away. Her wings block Merlin’s view, yet from the way her head darts forwards, and the sharp teeth that are visible in the mouth of her companion, Merlin can guess what will come next. Can guess, and won’t let happen.

Before he can stop himself or think of the consequences (when does he ever?), he’s already running forwards, past the maelstrom of talons, fire and feathers, yelling words that he doesn’t even remember learning. Skidding to a halt, he holds his hand outstretched as streaks of white-hot lightning leap out of it, striking the creature in the back. With an unearthly cry, she’s thrown forwards, over Arthur and crashing into the ground, first blackening and then falling into dust.

Without thinking about what he’s just done, he spins around and throws his hand out again, more bolts flying out to hit the second creature as it tries to attack him. This time he can clearly see the look on her face: unbelievable anger, fury, pain and, before that face is gone forever, unmistakeable fear. Her momentum carries her ashes forwards, scattering them over him.

He lets out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding, then gasps in more air like a man saved from death. That expression is still there, as if burnt onto his eyes, except its significance is muted by the rush that follows behind the magic, more intense than he’s ever felt before. A laugh breaks out of him as he turns around…

Only to die on his lips when he catches sight of Arthur’s face. 

If he thinks the creature’s expression was awful, the prince’s is a hundred, a _thousand_ times worse. 

There’s surprise, naturally, except it’s almost completely hidden by a look of such horror that Merlin can’t look away. Not fear, or anger, but actual _horror_ , like Merlin’s a nightmare Arthur’s only just realised he’s having. And it finally hits him; Merlin realises the magnitude of what he’s done here. No more secret. The truth’s out there in the worst possible way.

It’s like the rest of the world’s been cut out. All that seems to exist is the two of them, one standing staring down at the other, who’s lying there and may only be not attacking because his sword’s lying somewhere he can’t reach. Not that Arthur couldn’t get to it if he wanted to, Merlin’s seen how fast he can move when he wants to, but apparently he’s just as frozen as Merlin. There’s no sound, no _Camelot_ ; nothing except Arthur staring at him as if he’s something wrong, something that shouldn’t exist.

Dimly he hears the two knights whose lives he’s just saved walk up behind him, one calling out to Arthur, apparently hesitant to act without the prince’s orders. Of course, there is a law to enforce. It’s not only Arthur, after all; it’s an entire courtyard of witnesses.

He opens his mouth to speak, to say anything, to try to explain what’s happening… But Arthur looks away, either dismissing him like the servant he’s always been or repulsed by the criminal he is now.

However it’s meant, it acts as a signal to the knights behind him, who suddenly seize his arms, twisting them behind his back as they pull him away from their prince. Finally Merlin manages to say Arthur’s name, but there’s no response. His gaze stays turned away.

That’s why Merlin doesn’t fight: Arthur doesn’t say a word. He could blast these men away no doubt, especially now he doesn’t have to hide anymore, but instead he lets himself be dragged away. The fact that somebody he thought was his friend won’t even try to save him…

It’s like he’s killed him already.

\----------

Another court hearing: all the nobles currently residing in Camelot, including his own knights, quiet but alert to everything happening here, not just what’s being said but what’s _not_ ; their servants, respectful, attentive and almost invisible; the guards at the door and standing either side of the prisoner. It’s a scene Arthur’s seen so many times, ever since his father decided his son needed to watch every part of being king.

It’s different this time though. So, so different. Because the prisoner isn’t another nameless witch or warlock to be heard, sentenced and then forgotten once more. It’s somebody he thought he knew so well.

Next to him, he can hear Uther outlining the case. Despite the fact that everybody already knows what the verdict will be, even more now than usually, formalities have to be followed, appearances maintained. No matter the finer details of the situation, every case must at least appear free of bias. That includes magic, although the law itself states how that must be dealt with.

So much of the court depends on the image you present and what you manage to hide away. Given the amount of times he’s had to explain that to his servant, it’s hard to believe he’d succeeded better than any of them for so long.

Not any more though. Now Merlin’s kneeling in chains in the middle of the hall, staring at the floor as Uther describes his crimes. And they are crimes, Arthur knows that. It’s been drilled into him for as long as he can remember: all those who use magic are evil. He may have started having doubts recently, but he’s also seen enough to know that in general it’s true. The exceptions are few and far between, and all too often even they have their own agenda. That is what magic does to you.

Except no matter how much he repeats it to himself, it’s almost impossible to imagine Merlin like that. Seeing his servant on the floor, looking so small between the guards on either side of him, he’s sure there has to be some sort of mistake.

He _saw_ it though. He saw the lightning come out of Merlin’s hands, his eyes glowing like a demon. When he’d turned around to look at Arthur, grinning like a wild man with shining eyes and some sparks still chasing across his hands… That hadn’t looked anything like the person Arthur had started to hesitantly think of as a friend. 

He hadn’t even looked human.

And if Merlin was a sorcerer, what did that mean? Weeks, _months_ of lying to him. Apparently he hadn’t considered it important to tell him about something as huge as this. Not only had he hidden the truth, but he must have let Will cover for him. Must have – all the details kept filling in now, whether he wanted them or not, all the words that hadn’t sounded quite right or the actions which hadn’t quite been explained. A good person’s death used as a tool.

“You have used magic in Camelot, a crime punishable by death. One can only assume that you hoped to use it against its crown prince after gaining his trust.”

Both of them look at Uther in shock at that. Arthur can’t believe he hasn’t thought of that already. To think, there has been somebody capable of killing in an almost unimaginable way right there next to him for _months_. Arthur has given him any number of openings, even more than he should have for a normal servant. (Stupid. _Stupid._ Then a troubling thought occurs to him: how many of those magic attacks started with the man kneeling before them?

However, that question dies in his mind as he looks at his old servant. Merlin’s expression is filled with such stunned disbelief that it seems so unlikely that it’s completely faked. (Merlin can’t lie to save his life; except apparently he can, that’s why Arthur’s world has turned on its side, far more than it really should have.) In fact, he looks almost betrayed.

“You really think I’d hurt Arthur? I’ve saved his life more times than you know!”

It’s the first time Merlin’s spoken since his arrest. His voice is incredulous, outraged, and he almost stands before the hand of one of the guards catches his shoulder, pushing him down. It’s clear he still wants to raise himself up, but now he’s held in place. That spark there, that glare of defiance… Arthur realises maybe this is the same person who’s argued with him ever since reaching Camelot.

“Saved with magic?” Uther asks, his tone icy.

Merlin doesn’t hesitate for a moment, looking the king straight in the eye. “Yes.”

“You knowingly broke the law of Camelot, not once but on multiple occasions? You confess to this?” His father sounds incredulous, either at the idea at the idea of anybody managing it or that it was somebody who had always been thought of as largely incompetent.

“Yes.” His friend (no, not his friend anymore) sits back on his legs, unexpectedly shifting into a more comfortable voice. It’s the same defiance he used against Arthur so many times, and he doesn’t like how easily it’s used against the ruler of Camelot. “I slowed down time to save him the first time; brought those snakes out of Valiant’s shield; enchanted Lancelot’s lance to kill the griffin…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “I saved _your_ life from Edwin Muirden, but right now I don’t know why I even bothered!”

Arthur listens to the list in growing disbelief, although not for the reason his father would prefer. _What are you doing? You idiot!_ It seemed the only thing Merlin had learnt was to hide his magic. Couldn’t he see he was only making everything worse?

Leaning forwards in his throne, Uther declares threateningly, “You realise that you are speaking of treason?”

“I’m speaking the truth!” Merlin responds, smiling tauntingly in a way that looks all too familiar. “What are you going to do, kill me more?”

Abruptly Uther sits back decisively, cutting off any more words. “Enough! I find you guilty of the crime of using magic with eventual intent to kill the crown prince—” the king ignores the shouts of protestation, continuing, “—and for this you are sentenced to be executed at dawn tomorrow.”

The rest of the speech is cut off for Arthur. He can only hear ‘dawn tomorrow’ echoing around his mind, growing louder until he’s only distracted as Merlin is dragged out of the court, shouting accusations and curses even the prince hadn’t realised he knew.

He should say something. Anything. Object or agree, either would do, but instead he’s frozen to the spot, unable to speak. He can just watch. Helplessly. (Since when has he ever been helpless?)

 

He’s only wrenched out of his thoughts when he hears Morgana’s voice. Turning, he sees her glaring at him, eyes dark and her face flushed. “What?” he asks warily, recognising all the signs of one of her verbal assaults. Is she berating him for not seeing a sorcerer right next to him?

Narrowing her eyes, she hisses, “You’re going to let this happen?”

He stares at her in confusion. “What…?” is all he can manage again, any other words refusing to come.

“He’s your friend, Arthur! You heard him; he saved your life, and look how you’re repaying him!” She’s never been this angry at him before, not even over the druid boy. In this moment she looks like she wants to strike him down right there and then. An angry Morgana can be a terrifying thing, and the worst part is, Arthur finds he almost wants to let her do whatever she wants.

Before he can respond, Uther’s voice comes from behind him. “Remember your place, Morgana. The boy is a traitor, and he must face the punishment of all traitors.”

“But he hasn’t done anything wrong!” Her gaze flicks between the two of them, apparently unsure who she hates the most. “He’s saved both of you, he said so himself!”

A dry chuckle answers her. “And do you really think he wouldn’t lie to save himself?”

Undoubtedly she has some response prepared, but Arthur finally succeeds in speaking. “Morgana…” Not much, but it’s all that will come. The tone draws her attention at least, and for a moment she simply stares at him.

Then her reply comes, the words carrying across the Great Hall.

“You’re a fool, Arthur Pendragon.”

\----------

Merlin’s not surprised by his first visitor in the prison: Gaius, with a look of such fear that his heart jumps. Surely his mentor won’t do something he’ll regret…

“What happened? What possessed you to---“ No, he was going to give himself away. There was no way Merlin was going to drag anybody else down with him.

“I know, I shouldn’t have hidden something like this from you,” he says quickly, loud enough to hopefully drown out the end of the sentence. “I was scared; I didn’t know who I could tell.”

_Please let him understand… I can’t let you die with me._

The look Gaius gives him isn’t immediately promising. “What are you talking about?”

“It’s alright,” Merlin continues, voice raised more than normally to make sure the guards hear. (Maybe the ‘court idiot’ title still has enough life left in it for this to work.) Kneeling there before Uther (and doesn’t _that_ image grate now?), he’d started to realise just how many people could suffer if anybody suspected that others had already known about him. Known and never told the king. That is treason itself.

Willing Gaius to see what he’s doing ( _Please, I can’t. Not you too_ ), he says, calmer than even he’d expected, “I don’t want you to be blamed. This was nothing to do with you. I made my own choice, that’s all.”

There’s clearly something in his eyes that shows some of his panic, his desperation, because Gaius finally draws back. Distancing himself from the traitor, that’s a good start. “Well, I hope you realise how selfishly you’ve behaved. I’m ashamed to discover somebody like you living in my own quarters, taking advantage of a man in his advanced years.”

_Alright, no need to lay it on._ No wonder Merlin is such a poor liar. Look at the role-model he has.

Dismissively (and a little theatrically), Gaius turns away. “I can only hope you enjoy your last night.” At the door, he looks back, and even if his acting wasn’t the worst Merlin’s ever seen, the pain is clear in his eyes.

_I’m sorry,_ Merlin thinks, willing the thought to reach him in the same way he could with Mordred. He sees Gaius frown, then raise a hand to touch to his head only to lower it again. To his pleasure, his last sight of his mentor is the same sharp _how did you do that?_ look that’s endured throughout their months together.

‘Last sight’. There are going to be plenty of those tonight.

\----------

Arthur can’t say exactly when he realises there is somebody shouting his name in his head. For a while he tries to block it out, but eventually he has to discover where it’s coming from. Bizarrely, even though he’s hearing it in his mind, he can still follow it: down towards the dungeons (can’t think about who’s locked up in there), and then drawn towards a guarded doorway to below Camelot.

Well, ‘guarded’ is rather generous. Judging by the dice hidden a second too late, and the way they hastily wave him on, the guards aren’t too preoccupied with their task. Or perhaps they’re slightly scared of him. If people’s reactions are anything to go on, it hasn’t been safe to approach him since Merlin killed those creatures and, in the process, what feels like some part of his whole world.

His apprehension starts to grow as he descends the stairs, torch held in front of him like a weapon. Then, as an afterthought, he draws his sword for an actual weapon. Whatever’s calling him, he doesn’t like it.

A gasp escapes him as he emerges into a vast cave, larger than anything he’d imagined could exist underneath the castle. Quickly though he swallows that sign of amazement, raising the torch above his head. “Who’s there?” he calls out, rather hoping nothing will answer. 

The sound of wings - _large_ wings – and a sudden wind strong enough to knock him back several steps tell him he has no such luck.

Really the idea of the last dragon being kept beneath Camelot shouldn’t surprise him. Nevertheless, he stares in disbelief as something large, scaly and undeniably dragon-like swoops down to land on the rock mountain before him. And is it…smiling at him?

“It appears we meet at last, Prince Arthur.”

He doesn’t ask how it knows his name, or how it can speak at all. Like the rest of today, this doesn’t feel real. “You called me down here.” He has to know if it’s true. “What do you want?”

Suddenly it leans forwards, eyes coming dangerously close to his own. Instinctively he leaps back, his sword at the ready. From the low chuckle, it wouldn’t make any difference if it really wanted to attack him.

“Lower your weapon, young prince. I didn’t call you to try to kill you.” Always promising, although he’s not sure how far he trusts something with that many teeth. “I called you because Merlin refuses to respond to me.”

Now that was a name he wasn’t expecting to hear here. “Merlin?” It’s hard to keep the incredulous tone out of his voice, even though another secret hardly seems surprising now. “You’ve spoken to him?”

“Quite often. It would appear that I am rather useful as a source of knowledge,” the dragon says, its teeth shifting into a smile that looks strangely…modest? “But tell me, why does he not respond?”

Even though he hears the question, something else is bothering him. “You couldn’t get hold if Merlin, so you dragged me down here?” The dragon nods. “Why?”

It rears back again, evidently amused. “If you cannot reach one half, the other will do. In the end, it is the same.” Arthur’s not sure he likes the idea of simply ‘doing’, any more than he likes a dragon using that condescending tone of voice when addressing him. “But you have not answered: Where is Merlin?”

He swallows, unable to talk again. Why can’t he seem to say anything about this? 

He looks away (not just because those giant golden eyes are more than a little off-putting), and manages to say, “He’s in the dungeons. They’re going to execute him tomorrow,” he looks back, trying to gauge the reaction. “For magic.”

At those words, the dragon lets out an inhuman yell that sends him scrambling back, a detached part of his brain searching for suitable vantage and defence points on this small outcropping. Whoever made this place, they obviously didn’t think anybody would be stupid enough to provoke what’s being held here.

Meanwhile, the dragon beats its wings in anger, letting out another cry. “And so the king condemns his kingdom! And so Uther seeks to break destiny through his foolish laws!”

Arthur has to yell to make himself heard above the shouts and the wind. “What do you mean? What destiny?”

He forces himself not to retreat further at the look turned on him; instead he tightens his grip on his sword, even though it’s beginning to hurt. “ _Your_ destiny. If the warlock—” _Not surprised by the magic, then._ “—is killed, then you will never succeed. Without him, you will never be complete.”

“Succeed at what?” he asks, mind reeling at what the dragon is implying. Surely there is no way he needs Merlin like that? Except when he says it, it sounds…right. Like the truth.

With another beat of its wings, the dragon takes off again, chain clattering behind it, tracing its trail up to the ceiling of the cave. “Ensure that the warlock survives, and you will be able to find out.”

“Wait! Just how am I supposed to do that?” Normally he’d never ask anybody for this sort of advice, especially a chained up dragon, but this feels more like just letting out his frustration in his shouts. It has the same lack of result in any case.

For a moment he just stands there, staring into the abyss. Vaguely he hopes it will come back and explain some of what it said, yet there aren’t any signs of that happening any time soon. He guesses that if somebody had chained him up, he wouldn’t hang around for long to talk to their son either.

It’s an unwelcome further look into a side of his father he’s already faced today. No matter what he’s been told growing up, when he sees something like that dragon chained to a rock, or Merlin in shackles, he can’t help but wonder if this is really the right way to go about it. He knows magic’s wrong, yet all the same…

Barely registering what he’s doing, he turns and walks out of the cave, up the stairs and back into the world he knows. Passing the guards, he strides into a better-known area of this lower level of the castle. More guards here, and he stops to talk to them. At first they object, demanding some sign that Uther has ordered this latest development. However, at a look he’s learnt from both his father and Morgana they fall back out of his path.

It’s only a short walk to the cell at the end, except it feels like it takes a lifetime. He knows that when he reaches it, it will lead to a choice he’s not sure he’s ready to make. Nevertheless, as much as he doesn’t want to do it, he can’t just back away. Arthur Pendragon will not be proved a coward by this.

The sight that greets him makes him stop, just for a moment. It’s not like when they first met, when he threw Merlin in here himself, so long ago. Now the man (neither of them are boys anymore) is sitting in the corner staring unmoving at a non-specific part of the wall. He seems older than he looked that morning, sadder than Arthur ever imagined his irrepressible manservant could be.

At the sound of the key in the door, he suddenly breaks away from the stones to look at him. “Arthur?” It cuts him deeper than he’ll admit to hear the confusion and resignation there. No hope from seeing him. Perhaps Merlin realises that Arthur’s still not sure if he should even be considering this. His old servant has always been a little bit too good at reading him.

“Get up,” he orders, looking away and hiding a wince at the lack of emotion in his voice. “And follow me.”

For the first time, Merlin obeys.

\----------

They’ve been riding for what feels like hours; Merlin lost track after the sun set. He wants to ask where they’re going, but he’s afraid of what the answer will be. Afraid that if he says anything, he’ll break whatever’s moving Arthur or this dream and he’ll be right back in that cell, waiting for a miracle.

He hopes this isn’t a dream. He’d hate for his last dream to involve the horribly familiar pain of riding on horseback.

Even as the castle slowly draws further and further away, Arthur says nothing. Ever since that moment less than a day ago (a _day_ ), all he’s heard the prince say are those five words before he led him outside. No signs of whether this is an escape or some new torment invented by Uther. There was simply a horse handed to him and a motion to keep up.

Finally Arthur draws his horse to a halt in front of a signpost indicating a split in the road. Beyond that is the forest, looking more menacing than ever by the moonlight. It brings back memories of dark creatures, of ghouls and goblins that only come out at night. Perhaps the plan is to chain him up again and leave him as their prey? If unicorns can exist, why not them?

Following the prince’s lead, he slowly dismounts, wincing as his muscles protest. If riding had been hard enough after being chained up, now he feels a thousand times worse.

He starts to speak, but Arthur cuts him off with a gesture. They stand there for a moment, looking at each other as if for the first time all over again. Merlin’s not sure what the other man sees in him, but he knows he’s looking at somebody who could very well be the greatest king this land’s ever known. Too bad Merlin won’t live to see that, whatever the dragon might have said.

After a minute or an hour (time feels funny out here, and Merlin doesn’t really want to keep track anyway), the prince approaches him. “You lied to me,” he states, still no emotion to be heard in his voice. “You lied to me for _months_. You let me think you were stupid; you let me think Will was the sorcerer, not you.” The mention of his old friend hurts, but now’s not the time for mourning. “You were using magic the whole time.”

“Yes.” There’s not much more to say. However it may have seemed at the time, he can’t argue with the description as it’s presented. He couldn’t disagree with anything right now, not with that look of betrayal being picked out by the moonlight. Gods help him, right now he wishes he’d never been born in the first place. Better not to exist than to hurt Arthur like this.

A sigh interrupts his thoughts, and then Arthur draws his sword with a clean whistling sound that cuts through the air. 

This is it then. Not the executioner’s axe, but the sword of the man Merlin had wanted to protect. Funny, he’d been cleaning that sword only this morning. He thinks he might have missed a spot.

Gradually, as if the sword’s heavier than expected, Arthur raises it to point at Merlin’s throat. “I don’t want to do this.” 

“That makes it better, does it?” 

“There are rules. There are laws, and you broke them without thinking.”

“Well, you know me. I don’t think.” As last words go, at least they reflect the person he was.

Arthur frowns, apparently not appreciating any humour right before an execution. He never does like jokes at times like this. Although there’s never been another time like this, and there never will be again.

Merlin looks at him, then closes his eyes. The slight pressure against his scarf tells him the sword’s still there. He just can’t let his last sight be Arthur of all people killing him.

The point’s removed. There’s a brief silence, as if the world’s holding its breath. Then the slicing sound of steel cutting through the air, followed by a dull thud.

Slowly, Merlin opens his eyes.

The sword’s stuck in the earth, hilt pointing up towards the sky. Arthur has his back to him, shaking slightly, but apparently not about to move.

“What?” He doesn’t understand. What’s happening?

“I can’t kill you,” the prince says, resigned and sounding as confused as the sorcerer. “What you did was wrong, there are no laws to save you…and yet I can’t kill you.”

As he turns, Merlin’s surprised to see the beginnings of tears in his eyes. “Get out, Merlin. Get away from here. Into the forest, into another kingdom, I don’t care. Just get out of Camelot.” His voice is tight yet strangely earnest, as if this has to be said. “I don’t know what’s going on here, but I won’t be the one to do this.”

Reaching out, Merlin’s unsure of what to say. A thanks? An apology? His hand brushes against Arthur’s skin, and the prince visibly flinches. They stand there, staring into each other’s eyes, and it feels like there’s something else to be said, but the words won’t come. Neither of them can speak; neither of them can move.

Finally Arthur reaches out and takes hold of the sorcerer’s arm. Briefly Merlin wonders if he’s going to pull him closer, say goodbye in a way that feels right, until Arthur suddenly yanks him forward and behind him. “Go. I can’t see where, I’m not sure if I’ll be able to stay silent. Don’t go to Ealdor, they’ll find you there. Trust me, I can take care of Hunith. Just…leave.”

There’s still so much to be said, but now’s not the time. Merlin stares at his back; reaches out for a moment, not even sure what he’s going to do. His fingers clutch at air, and Arthur won’t turn around. Merlin doesn’t get another look.

He sighs; his hand falls back to his side; he leaves. 

At the edge of the forest, he turns for the last time to see the sun rising behind Camelot, silhouetting Arthur before the castle. How…appropriate.

“I’m coming back,” he calls out. 

And he’s gone.

\----------

Arthur stares straight ahead towards the dawn, as if he hadn’t heard. He stands there, watching the light as it spreads across Uther’s kingdom – _his_ kingdom, someday – until he can no longer hear anything, then waits a little bit longer. 

If he turns too soon, if he catches sight of his friend (and they are still friends), he doesn’t trust himself to hold to this. Merlin has to leave Camelot, there’s no question about that.

The turrets of the castle light up. The stone looks like it’s on fire. Reluctantly, he turns. 

There’s no trace of Merlin anywhere. No sign of which way he went or where he might be hiding. Another order followed. Wonders will never cease.

Sadly, he smiles. 

“Not if I come looking for you first.”


End file.
